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JET LAG TRASH
06.11.2023 Life Happens, Coffee Helps
And I’m back from a longer than anticipated break, there is never a dull moment here. Let me set the scene for you: The jet touches down, and we are back on Canadian soil. It has been a long travel day from Bilbao. We nearly missed our connection in Amsterdam because we arrived late at an A gate, and our departing flight is at a G gate (a 30min run) but we made it. We deplane in Vancouver, and our photographs are taken at the self-service customs declaration. Our mugshots look like the real thing; black circles under the eyes, feral stares, waxy skin, like we have been living on the run from Interpol, eating nothing but insects for two weeks. Kendall is doubled over laughing at our ratchet-asses. The officer decides to let us through. We are waiting at the baggage carousel, there is a Bloodhound working, sniffing our carry-ons, good boy, and I open up my email. There is the usual cheerful marketing from Adidas, Aritzia, my cellphone bill, and then I feel my cabin pressure drop—there’s a move-out notice from my landlord. No. I look again. Do I tell the others or pretend the air wasn’t just sucked out of the room? I keep it to myself for 10 mins or so, staring at the design on the carpet (fun fact: it’s a custom design called logjam meant to suggest logs floating down the Fraser River), then at the conveyor belt, willing our baggage to appear, the jet lag spiralling fast into existential dread, and I decide to share the bad news. Shock all around. Fuck. Welcome home. Now what?
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Moving is a lot think about when you’ve been travelling for 20hrs, sleep-deprived, hungry, and disassociating from everything to get through the day. There’s always a passenger using the flight as an invitation to walk up and down the aisles nonstop, and take up space in the bulkhead like they’re some VIP, making eye-rolling chit chat with other passengers, while babies scream (I know how you feel baby, I feel like screaming too). A man who became seasick on a ferry before his flight, leaves his seat over and over to sit in the lavatory for 30mins at a time until his nausea passes. A know-it-all passenger offers ‘advice’ to help him, but instead of just giving him motion sickness medicine (which she’s waving around in her hand), gives him two Tylenol, and wastes his time looking up weird drug interactions that make no sense for him, his health history, and his current condition. Exasperated, he gets up and goes to live in the lavatory closet again. I put my headphones in, cue up a podcast (Bret Easton Ellis discussing The Zodiac Killer), and try to get some sleep.
The timing of this move is… well, not ideal; in four weeks ACTORS will be on tour again in Europe for another 25 days. Also, I’ve lived in my apartment for 10 years, with the rent price well under market value, and moving now will more than double my monthly living expenses. Can I even afford to live in my hometown anymore? In case you’ve been blissfully unaware, Vancouver has the most expensive housing market in the world, and is on average 90% higher than the rest of Canada. I know you’re thinking: “Just move somewhere else more affordable!” but it’s more complicated than that. My band is here, my Mom and Dad are here, many of my tattoo clients are here—I’m not really sure where to go. Do I keep digging for an illusive gem that fits my budget and needs here? Or is the Universe suggesting I relocate somewhere else entirely?
I’ve been sleeping horribly, from the jet lag and my cartwheeling brain, waking up at 3am, scouring my contact list, Facebook Marketplace, and Craiglist for leads. Cursing the prices, and the mostly garbage condition of the suites available. Apartments photographed with a fish-eye lens to imply it’s actually a liveable amount of space, descriptions so dishonest there ought-to-be-a-law. Here is a ‘spacious’ living room barely 8ft across, a ‘recently renovated’ but lightly shat upon bathroom, and this one is in a ‘charming heritage building’ that has bedbugs, free of charge. I hate that the language of real estate is just dressing up all the short-comings of shit-hole housing.
Despite my crass summary of the situation, I know deep down that change is good and I do welcome it. I’ve been needing a larger live/work situation for a while, and as they say; life happens, coffee helps. As of this morning, I’m actually getting excited, my jet lag is finally improving and I’m choosing to make this situation work for me. Wherever the next few months lead will be for the better.
Thanks for being here. More tour stories up next. XO